Confessions
by MegaOtaku777
Summary: What would Alfred do if Arthur died? Warning: contains yaoi and boy x boy kissing


"No…" The word came out in a whisper, but it echoed around the still room. Alfred stood in the doorway, his hand clamped around his mouth, as he stared at the prone form in front of him. There, spread out on the crisp, white sheets and looking as pure as an angel, was…

Arthur.

The doctors hadn't even changed him out of his regular vest and pants; there was no need for a hospital gown. Words were floating out of the doctors' mouths, but Alfred didn't hear them. He only caught little words and phrases like "car crash" and "dead on impact" and "nothing we could do". Alfred simply stumbled forward, his numb legs moving on their own. His gloved hands reached out toward the man who raised him, as if somehow desperately grasping for some hope that he might still be alive. It was a vain hope.

The only time Alfred could ever remember Arthur looking this serene was when he was asleep, and even then, Alfred would watch the older man's chest to make sure it moved. But now, the fabric was still. His hands were clasped calmly on his stomach, and his skin looked pale and fragile.

Arthur grasped the dead man's hands, squeezing them so hard he feared they would break. "Arthur," he pleaded, "answer me. Don't leave me here! Please!" Tears fell freely down his cheeks and stained Arthur's plain white shirt a dark gray color. Alfred was now clutching the corpse's shoulders, shaking him as if to wake him up. He was shouting noises that could have been mistaken for words, but he didn't care. The doctors tried to rip him away, but he fought, kicked, and scratched, frantic that if he let go, they would take Arthur away forever.

"Arthur!" he screamed as the nurse pried his hands off of his father's shoulders, "don't leave me! Come back! Dad!" That last word surprised even Alfred. He hadn't called the older man such an affectionate name since…forever. Alfred slumped in the nurse's arms, all energy sucked out of him. He collapsed into a pile of tears and sobs, allowing the doctors to escort him away from the only person who really cared about him.

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After about an hour of calming down, the doctors let Alfred in the room again, this time under strict supervision and a promise not to lose it. None of it really mattered to Alfred. His father wasn't coming back, so all his hope and vigor had vanished. What walked into the hospital room was no longer Alfred Jones, fearless leader of the New World, Hero of the Planet; it was merely a husk that resembled him.

Alfred took his seat next to the gurney where Arthur lay, still as silent as, well, death. Alfred put his head in his hands, shaking with grief. "Remember the time you gave me that toy soldier set?" the hero started out. "I was so excited that I got a new toy. I played with it nonstop for hours and hours, and finally you said that it had to go away and I had to go to bed. You never saw me pick it up again, but I used to play with it when you weren't looking."

Alfred smiled. "Did you know that your soldier set was what I used to plan my battle strategies? I know, kind of ironic. But I bet you also didn't know that I still have it."

He peeked at the corpse in front of him. "There's a bunch of things you didn't know. Like how, I would sneak out and just goof off in the back yard in my best clothes. Or how I would throw away your scones, then make a hamburger in the middle of the night. Or how much I really cared about you, just never said anything…" A single tear dripped down his cheek.

"Funny how people think of so many things to say once someone is gone. Like how many '_I love you_'s are thrown around after someone died. Or how many confessions come out into the open. I wish I would have had more time with you…then you would really know…how much you meant…"

Alfred was openly crying now, clutching his arms and hugging himself so tight his hands were losing the feeling. "Don't go, Dad!" Alfred wailed openly, not caring if anyone heard him or not. The doctors were about to lead him away again, but something stopped them. Alfred looked up, and then shielded his eyes from a bright light. He thought it was just the bulb freaking out, but looking back, he would know it was something different.

Because a light bulb couldn't bring his father back to life.

The Englishman sat up drowsily, rubbing his eyes. "Where in the blazes—"

He was cut short by Alfred wrapping his arms around his middle, sobbing loudly into his chest. Arthur thought that the other man was trying to say something, but it was lost in the hustle bustle of shocked doctors and floored nurses. They immediately swarmed Arthur, pushing Alfred out to the outskirts of the crowd. He tried to push and shove his way into the middle of the circle, and Arthur tried to reach Alfred with the same vigor, but the rush of bodies was too overwhelming.

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Half a dozen needles and just as many tests later, Alfred was finally allowed to have visitors. The first one through the door was the only one he wanted to see. The leather-wearing "hero" came bursting in through the door, staring at the older man, as if trying to memorize every outline and curve of his body in case he woke up. Arthur gestured for Alfred to join him on the bed, which he hesitantly accepted.

"How…?" Alfred began to ask, but seemed to lose his thought.

"I'm not sure. I just remember, before everything went dark, that I had one last thought: I really wanted to see you one last time. Then, I heard your voice, and here I am. It's simple, really." He wasn't lying, but he wasn't telling the truth either. He hadn't been simply unconscious; he had been dead. As in ceasing to exist. No longer living. And it felt like being trapped in a swirling mass of agony, of other souls who couldn't find peace. His little boy's voice was the only thing that brought him out.

Before Arthur could go on, Alfred wrapped his arms around the older man's waist once more, refusing to let go this time. "I thought I lost you…" he mumbled into Arthur's soft skin.

"Well, you didn't," he joked, but he knew that wasn't going to raise Alfred's spirits. Instead, he did what he had been waiting to do for a very long time. He cupped Alfred's chin, lifted his tear-stained face, and mumbled, "And you won't have to." With a blush on his cheeks, he brought their lips together.


End file.
